Made Perfect
by Riha Hyesthae
Summary: The ultimate goal for the Grid was perfection, but Flynn held one vision of the perfect world and Clu another. How can two such disparate ideals be reconciled?
1. Reconfigure

"This is not a perfect situation." The voice was mangled, muted, the words distorted and lopsided. "I have my function and you have yours. Sadly, they are incompatible."

Static fizzed and flickered before his eyes, eventually tracking to a flat, grainy image of a familiar face.

"Flynn?" Tron croaked, his voice thin and low-res in his own ears. Or perhaps ear. Audio input had gone mono, everything coming from his right side.

"Hardly," said Flynn's face. "Therein lies the problem."

"I fight for the User." His words were stronger this time, in both conviction and volume. Clu's smile was rueful, his words gentle.

"I know, my friend, I know."

Tron felt a hand brush over his hair. "You can't help it. It's what you were made for. I can't ask you to go against your programming. Fortunately, I don't have to."

"Flynn..."

"Is gone."

"But..."

"Your Users _left_ you. They went back through the portal and left you- all of you- in my care. I'm in charge now, Tron. Flynn told me to create a perfect system, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Alan?" the word echoed hollow and desperate.

"He can't hear you. He abandoned you, but it's all right. I'm going to fix things, and I'm going to start with you."

It wasn't until the touch to his face that he realized something was wrong. Terribly wrong. What had started as a cold, abstract numbness exploded into agony. A sharp burning sensation stabbed into his left ear, lanced across his face, and gouged into his eye socket. Wounds always felt deeper than they really were, but he felt sure he must have been cut clean down to superstructure. Before he could bite it back, the scream escaped his throat.

"It hurts, doesn't it," Clu told him, voice distant and fuzzy through the pain and static of his own howls. "Perfection isn't easy."

Images flickered across his mind's eye, only to darken and vanish. Clu threatening Alan and Flynn, himself raising a hand to stop him. Clu's minions ambushing them, Clu standing over him with his own data disk raised above his head and then- Darkness.

"You fought for the User, but there is no User anymore, only me. From now on, you fight for me...Rinzler."

"Rinzler...?" he repeated.

"Rinzler," Clu affirmed.

"I...fight for..."

"Your leader, your savior. When your User is absent, you fight for me."

"...for you?"

"Yes, Rinzler. You will fight for me."

"I will fight for you," Rinzler repeated mechanically.

"Very good," Clue leaned back, smiling.

"Yori..." The word escaped on its own.

Clu tilted his head to one side. "Who is Yori?"

"Yori? She... She is..." Rinzler rubbed at his head, trying to remember.

"Gone," Clu supplied. "Gone like the Users. You're a warrior. A warrior has no room in his heart for love."

"No room."

"None. You fight for me, for perfection. Together, we'll protect the Grid and make it perfect."

"Perfect?" he echoed.

"Yes, Rinzler, perfect. I have made you perfect; the perfect warrior. Together, none will stand in our way."


	2. Requisition

Clu said nothing, only held his hand against Tron's ruined face a moment longer as the circuitry pulled itself back together. It would leave a scar, but at least he'd be able to see out of two eyes again. He done this, after all, it was only right that he repair the damage.

The coup had been necessary, and while the fight with Tron had not been unexpected, he hadn't thought it would end so badly. Attacking Tron himself had been pure, unplanned reflex. Tron's howl of pain had jerked him back to reality, the red fading from his vision and a cold sense of dread collecting like mountain mist in the pit of his stomach.

He hadn't meant to hurt him. Not like that. Tron was necessary for keeping the Grid in order. He was a comrade if not exactly a friend. Something like panic gripped his heart, only relaxing its hold as Tron- out could- drew a shallow breath. Clu exhaled deeply, the rush of fear and adrenaline escaping with the carbon dioxide.

"You'll be all right," Clu promised, carefully replacing replacing Tron's data disk and letting him settle on his back. The clatter of boots against pavement alerted him of the guards' return.

"Sir...I'm afraid we lost him." There was trepidation in the program's voice, but there needn't have been. He had, after all, all the time in the world. Clu nodded and stood, carefully easing Tron's head to the ground as he did so.

"That's all right, he won't get far. Set up a perimeter to watch for him, then send the troops into the city. It's more important to get things in order here first."

"And the traitor?" the guard asked, training his weapon on Tron's shattered face.

"No, no," Clu stepped forward and gently pushed the barrel down to point at the floor. "No, he's not a traitor," he said kindly. "He was simply playing for the wrong team. There's no need to derez him."

"Sir," the guard responded, sounding more than a little confused.

"Take him up to the medical bay and see he's well cared for. We're going to need him later on."

"Yes, sir."

He watched as four guards improvised a stretcher of their hands and arms- one took his shoulders, another his legs, two more held up either side of his body- and bore away the last hero of the Grid. After a moment Clu followed them. He still had one more thing to do.

Yori, as anticipated, was not happy to see him.

"Clu," she demanded sharply, "what's going on? I registered an altercation in the courtyard and something's happened to communications. I can't contact Tron."

"Who?" Clu asked, taking hold of her forearm. She wrenched away.

"Stop it, Clu. I know you know what happened. What aren't you telling me?"

He watched her as she shouted, traced each syllable on her lips. It was true what they said about women being beautiful when they were angry.

"You're so beautiful," he mused aloud, reaching to smooth back a stray strand of hair. Not for the first time he felt a coil of envy twist in his stomach. Still, Tron and Yori were- had been- perfect for each other, a complimentary pair. However, if he let them stay together, they'd only cause more trouble and he didn't want to hurt either of them even more.

"_Clu._" Now she was really angry. But, he realized, that was only to mask her fear. Fear of him, or fear for Tron, he wasn't sure.

"Yori..." he took her hands, the regret in his voice holding her captive far better than any physical restraint. He squeezed her fingers tightly, feeling heat and energy radiate from his own.

"He's gone," Clu told her honestly.

"What?" She squinted, searching his face in vain for a hidden meaning, a way to blot out what he might say. Orange had already crept as high as her elbows. "No. No, he can't be gone."

Blue-white light burned brightly up and down her uniform and Clue clenched her hands more tightly. She cried out at this. Relaxing his grip, he slid his hands up her arms to circle her biceps.

"He's gone," he repeated softly. "There is no Tron."

Orange flooded her boots, her leggings, her coat and dress, but the necklace-like insignia across her collarbones burned stubbornly blue. Tears welled up and spilled over as he pulled her close and put his arms around her.

"I'm sorry, Yori," he husked, meaning every syllable. "So sorry."

"No," she whispered, begging for a lie. All he had to give her was the truth.

"Yes."

Leaning in, he kissed her lips. Although the thought had crossed his mind- taking Yori for himself, raising their daughter as his own- he'd shoved it aside. A perfect system was not one in which he stole another man's family. There was no need to rob her of all her happiness. He wouldn't steal that. But there was no reason he could not try to earn her love for himself. There was no passion in the kiss, no romance to flood it with heat and desire. It was cold and comfortless, a widow's kiss; a second-hand goodbye from a husband who was no longer present to deliver it himself.

He held her a moment after they'd broken apart. Eyes dazed and swimming in tears, she just stared at him, unsure what had just happened. The collar of her dress gleamed a warm amber against the white fabric.

"Tron...?"

"He's gone, Yori. I'm sorry."

Collapsing against him, she broke down and wept. Regret weighted his gut as he stroked her hair, trying to be soothing. Surely a heart-broken Yori had no place in his perfect system?

"Tron's gone," he murmured into her ear, "but you've always had a thing for Rinzler."


	3. Return

It clicked. Flynn. He'd been trying to save Flynn. He _hadn't_ abandoned them. In his heart, he had never truly believe that. He drifted, slowly sinking as the memories began to sort themselves out. The light flickered, warm red-orange fading to be replaced with clear blue-white. He was Tron again. Tron. Yori. Gem. Oh User.

Turning in the water, he clawed for the surface. Pain tugged at the left side of his face, but he ignored it. The Sea of Simulation was wide and he had no idea how far he'd have to swim. Finding his glider rod seemed like too much to hope for.

_Alan... Flynn..._ he thought, _Help me..._

As if in answer, the earth and sky shook, a massive shockwave of light and power throwing him against one of the many rocky spires. Turning, he clung to it until the wall of energy had passed. When he finally dared to look, a glowing shape caught his gaze. Clu's glider rod lay lodged in a crevice in the stones.

"Thank you," he told the sky.

Climbing up, he fished the rod from between the rocks. He had to grapple halfway up the formation before he was high enough. Praying the rod was still energized enough to function, he closed his eyes and jumped.

The shockwave had hit the city already. Instead of Clu's gold and orange the lights shone white and clear blue. Good thing, too. The glider was almost out of power and so was he. Flying with monocular visuals had proved difficult and Tron wasn't sure he really wanted to try to land in such close quarters. The decision was made for him as the wireframe began to flicker and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He fell into the descent, the glider blinking out a few clicks from the ground. It wasn't a high fall, but the momentum carried him forward. Tucking into a ball, he felt his feet and then his shoulder connect with the street, sending him tumbling until he rolled to a stop. Traffic, it seemed, had come to a stand still. There was no screech of brakes, no horns or bells scolding him to get out of the way. For a moment he simply laid there, feeling the pain radiate down from his head to the rest of his body.

"Rinzler?" someone asked, approaching him cautiously.

"It's Rinzler!" The phrase rippled back through the crowd like rings in a data stream. The helmet felt stuffy and hot, filled as it was with his pained breaths. Undoing the catch, he stiffly sat up and pulled it off. A communal gasp went up. No one had ever seen Rinzler's face, but one or two programs might remember Tron's, disfigured though it might be.

"My name is Tron," he told the crowd, getting to his feet. The world swam for a moment and he let the helmet clatter to the street. "I fight for the User."

"The User?" echoed one of the onlookers. "What about Clu?"

"Clu was reintegrated," he held out his arms to show off the blue-white light running up and down his uniform. "Flynn took him back. He gave himself to save us. Flynn saved us. A _User_ saved us." The ground pitched and he staggered where he stood.

"You are free."

Cheers exploded around him, several programs surged forward and he collapsed into their arms.

"Gem... Yori..." he murmured. "Where are they?"

He heard the question echo back, passing like a wave through the crowd. Many arms held him up, keeping him on his feet.

"Central Tower," the cry went up. Tron lifted his head to see the spire of Central Tower piercing the atmosphere. His vision swam.

"Can you walk?" someone asked.

"I think so," he answered, not at all convinced he could. Hoping it was true, he took a step but his knee buckled beneath him. The ground pitched and he fell, hands reaching out to catch him.

"Tron."

The word was a title, a benediction, more than just a name. The hands lifted him and he felt himself being carried on the crowd's shoulders. On either side, a hand held his. The spire blurred, solidified, and blurred again as he drifted toward it, born on the wave of hands that carried him.

"_Tron!_" The shout was sharp and shrill, jerking him from the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness and back into the waking world. Opening his eye, he saw her. It had been ages. They both were older, but he would have recognized her regardless.

"Yori!" He fell, quite literally, into her arms. A cheer went up, barely noticed, as he kissed her.

"I missed you," she murmured into his shoulder once they'd broken apart.

"Where's Gem?" he asked.

Her face fell. "I don't know. When Clu..." She paused and her eyes flicked down to study the pavement. Aware now that her own memories had been tampered with, she could only guess how much he knew. Looking up, she eyed the crowd briefly before meeting his gaze again; a look that said 'Not in front of all these people.'

Tron nodded, he could wait. Taking his hands, she squeezed them and gave him a sad smile. He returned it, but the focus in his remaining eye was fading. Reaching, she caught him as he fell.

"Yori..." he murmured, trying to muster the strength and the memory to stand on his own.

"Shh..." she whispered, petting his hair. "You're home."

The lights dimmed and he knew no more.


End file.
